


Ridiculous

by angelswillfall



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Post-5x13, This is a little sad but mostly happy!, guess who isn't actually dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelswillfall/pseuds/angelswillfall
Summary: Half the time, Shaw was expecting The Machine to carry out some kind of mischievous plan. What else could she think when she heard Root’s voice every time The Machine contacted her? But The Machine had always just sent her on missions, the same thing she’d always done. Nothing more, nothing less. So what was this?

 
 
 
 This was... something different.Turns out the Machine is quite the matchmaker.





	

Shaw sat in the corner of the room, head bowed yet eyes flitting around. A cap over her head obscured her eyes. In her hands, she held a magazine about baking – not the most interesting subject, but it did the job. It made the people walking by assume that she was just a normal person, doing normal things. Waiting on someone in this hotel lobby.  


The hotel was fancy; red tapestries hung on the walls and the staircase further down the corridor had golden banisters. A soft carpet dampened the many footsteps that resounded through the hall as tourists and businesspeople alike hurried around, on their way to their room or out of it. 

Opposite Shaw, a few meters away, was the reception desk. A few employees stood behind it, but only one was of interest to Shaw. He was a middle-aged man, with greying hair and tired eyes. Shaw was watching for anything suspicious, but he had been standing there for hours, doing nothing but his job. 

So why had the Machine given her his number?

Shaw pinched her nose and sighed. This job was going just great. At least yesterday, she’d gotten to chase an armed woman down a crowded street. Now _that_ was fun. Of course, she had caught the woman easily. But this man… Victim or perpetrator? He didn’t look like either. He looked like some boring person doing some boring job. Shaw didn’t have time for this.

She stood up abruptly, the magazine falling down to the ground with a soft _thump_. Behind the desk, the man was explaining something to a confused tourist. His voice was calm, soothing even. Shaw didn’t have the _patience_ for this. 

The tourist left, and Shaw stepped up to the desk. The man peered up at her. “Yes? Are you here to check in?”

Shaw raked her brain. “Um, yes. No. Hey, you look awfully familiar… Are you John Hamish?” She wasn’t sure how this tactic could work, but she was bored. She was willing to try anything. 

“Oh, wait a minute.” John smiled. “Sameen Shaw?”

Shaw’s heart skipped a beat. What?

“Yes, I was told you’d arrive. You’re welcome in room 42A.”

Shaw glared at him, as if that would help her figure out how he knew her name. “You were told I’d arrive? Who told you?”

“Why, Mr. Thornhill.”

Shaw stared. Mr. Thornhill? Also known as The Machine? What in the hell was she up to? Half the time, Shaw was expecting The Machine to carry out some kind of mischievous plan. What else could she think when she heard Root’s voice every time The Machine contacted her? But The Machine had always just sent her on missions, the same thing she’d always done. Nothing more, nothing less. So what was this? 

Shaw mumbled a “thanks” that she didn’t really mean to John and retreated. So should she go and check out room 42A? It seemed like the only option.

She rushed up the stairs, ignoring the chit-chatter coming from the other guests bounding up and down. Her mind was a sharp knife, focused on the task at hand. Or maybe a gun. Shaw preferred guns, really. Maximum damage. Less blood ending up on your clothes. But both were fine.

When she reached the first floor, she followed the signs into the left hallway. Past 40A, 40B, 41A, 41B… And there it was, room 42A. The door was closed. Shaw pushed at it, ever so gently, not wanting to make any noise. To her surprise, the door opened. She slipped into the room, closed the door quietly behind her, and turned around.

And froze.

Right there, standing next to a way-too-white bed and a wobbly bedside table, was Root. 

_Root._

But it couldn’t be.

Shaw resisted the urge to clutch her head so that she could physically make her delusions flee her mind, and instead blinked a few times. It didn’t work. 

And Root – Root was staring right back, mouth fallen open. Her voice was a whisper. _“Shaw.”_

“No.” Shaw grimaced and she shook her head violently and was it just her or was her voice going all shaky? This wasn’t her. Her voice didn’t get _shaky_. “No, this isn’t real.”

“How – how did you find me?”

“I didn’t find you because THIS ISN’T REAL!”

“Shaw.” With one step, Root closed the distance between them. She grabbed Shaw’s hand, and Shaw realized that she _had_ raised it to her head now, to do what, she didn’t know.

But she stopped. Because Root’s hand felt very real and very soft and very warm within her own.

“You died.” Shaw struggled to keep her voice void of emotion. 

Root swallowed away tears. “I… I faked it. I faked my death.”

It felt like Shaw was disconnected from her surroundings; like it was all just a dream, and it was this that made it easier for her to talk as if this was really happening. “Why would you do that?”

“I knew that it was the only way to get Harold to stop playing nice. To start doing what it took to _win_.”

She was right, wasn’t she? Root’s death had pulled Finch over the edge.

But if Shaw could reason that, then Shaw’s delusion of Root could reason it as well.

And still, Root’s hand felt so real and good.

Shaw looked up into Root’s face to properly look at her. She had the same beautiful brown hair, the intense eyes, the soft face of someone who’s seen and done so much, but who survived it all and never let the world break her. This, more than anything, was why Shaw cared about Root so much; because she saw an equal in her, someone who could understand her. 

Root’s eyes were filled with tears. Her voice was thick. “Shaw?”

They had stood in heavy silence for a while. Shaw’s mind returned to the room. “Okay, so, you faked your death. Did The Machine know?”

“The Machine agreed that it was a good plan. She helped me.”

_The grave…_ thought Shaw. There had been no one in there.

If this was real.

“But what about after?” Shaw’s voice rose, anger curling around the edges. “Once we’d won, why didn’t you _come back?”_

During, at least, Shaw had had distractions. The faith of the world had laid in their hands. She’d had so much to do, and sure, she’d still had plenty of time to think about Root, but not as much as she’d had afterwards. After they’d won, after John had died, after Finch had left. Only Fusco and Bear were still here, helping out, but it hadn’t been enough. 

Root swallowed, her face a painting of overwhelming sadness. “I… I wanted to, Sameen. But I didn’t think you’d need me anymore. I mean, you saved the world without me. I played my part.”

Shaw’s thoughts became a shout, wild and furious. She couldn’t quite untangle them, couldn’t lead them to her mouth. Instead, her hands clenched into fists and she swung, hard, at the lamp standing on the floor beside her. It crashed down on the ground, shattering into several pieces. But it wasn’t enough. Shaw’s eyes went to a painting on the wall; before she even knew what was happening, she’d grabbed it, and then she threw it down too. When it refused to break, she picked it up again with the intention of throwing it a second time. As she did so, she raised her eyes. Root was looking at her with eyes like mirrors, reflecting all of the sadness that Shaw could never release. Shaw’s hands unclenched. She dropped the painting to the ground, gently this time. She was still angry, red hot steel running through her veins, but she couldn’t bear to see Root like this. 

_God._ She had to be real, didn’t she? Because Shaw would never let Root look this sad.

Shaw leaned back against the wall and heaved. For some reason, she was incredibly tired, as if her bones were melting. But, looking back up at Root, strength seemed to seep from her partner in crime preventing, straight into her chest. That same strength she’d always felt when fighting alongside Root. 

When Shaw spoke, her voice was rough. “So you thought you could just slip away, because you were no longer necessary?”

“I… I thought you’d want me to,” said Root. “Because you’re doing just fine on your own. And, I mean, I found my own jobs. Saved people my own way. That’s why I’m in town, actually–”

“I’m not doing fine.” Shaw had never spoken a sentence that was so true in her life, but at the same time, it felt like a lie. Because it had been good, hadn’t it? Catching perpetrators, helping victims? With The Machine as the only one she needed to rely on? Just Shaw against the world. The way it had always been. 

But Root… She’d always been there, in the back of Shaw’s head. And Shaw had blocked her out, so that she wouldn’t have to feel the white, searing pain that came with thinking of her… her what? Ally? Friend? Girlfriend? Partner? Yet every time she heard The Machine, the pain came anyway.

“So are you just going to leave again?” hissed Shaw. She’d never let her emotions get the better of her like this, but they still came out like sharp anger. Even though they were really something else. 

Root searched Shaw’s eyes. Took a deep breath. “Not… not if you don’t want me to, Sam.”

Shaw hid the surprise that rose up in her, catching in her throat. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll… I’ll stay. I’ll help you and The Machine… If you want me to.” Root’s words were high, fragile, hopeful. Her eyes were focused on Shaw’s. Shaw, who usually didn’t like eye contact, was looking right back. Silence spread between the two of them. Root broke it. “I mean, I really want to stay with you. I missed you, so much, Shaw. I even stalked you a few times…”

Shaw suppressed a small smile, then frowned at herself. But yes, of course, Root was the only one who could ever stalk Shaw without Shaw finding out. Surprising, considering how much Shaw’s eyes were always drawn to Root whenever she was close.

“I was just afraid, I guess, thinking that I wasn’t supposed to go back, now that I was dead… But…” Root trailed off. Still, the two of them were looking at each other. A mute conversation passed between them, soft yet strong, like a cord between their hearts. 

Shaw nodded, and said one word. “Stay.”

This time, Shaw didn’t suppress the smile. Root smiled too, wide and dazzlingly. Bright energy sparked off her, infecting Shaw – who felt levity enter her body, softening the weights that had plummeted in her stomach over time. It was a start. 

Shaw moved closer to Root then, walking over lamp parts in the process. Root glanced down at the ground with a smirk. 

“So…” said Shaw. “You didn’t tell The Machine to get me here, then?” Root had been surprised to see her, hadn’t she?

“No.” Root frowned. “How _did_ you get here?”

“The Machine send me the number of a guy downstairs. I think she just wanted him to tell me the room number, so that I’d end up here.”

“Unless he’s actually getting murdered downstairs,” suggested Root with a grin.

Shaw shrugged. “Not my problem. He told me to come here. If he decided to get murdered when I was away, well, then that’s too bad for him.”

“So… The Machine brought you here?”

“It appears so.” The Machine was quite a matchmaker, wasn’t she? 

“Huh. You know, I actually got offered this room for free.”

_“What?”_

“I got a message saying that someone anonymous had booked this room for me. That I could stay here for a few days.”

Shaw’s forehead crinkled. “Someone, you didn’t know who, booked this room for you and you didn’t think it was the _least_ bit suspicious?”

“Oh, of course I thought it was suspicious. Didn’t mean I was going to let this opportunity for a free hotel room slip away.”

Shaw stared at her partner in crime preventing. Her girlfriend. “You’re ridiculous.”

Root just smiled as she reached out to fondly tuck a strand of hair behind Shaw’s ear. “Thank you, Sameen. I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Shaw moved her face closer to Root’s. “You do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my friend Manon's birthday! And for myself, because I really needed it.  
> Hey CBS, contact me about writing a POI spin-off show starring Root and Shaw (please).


End file.
